


Hologram

by anthropologies



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Physical and emotional abuse, Sexual Abuse, Slow Burn, Warning for abuse, all other characters make at least one appearance, depictions of assault, first fic lets go, incest trauma mentioned, korekiyo and ouma are both gay dont @ me, korekiyo's sister is awful and should die, no one writes kiyouma stuff so i have to do the work myself, oumakiyo, theyre all in one big school
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-10-15 09:24:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17526077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthropologies/pseuds/anthropologies
Summary: Kokichi Ouma is small, frail, fragile, and appears with a new bruise every new day. Easy to bully and barely biting back (though that isn't to say he isn't rude and unkind) he makes his way through high school by dragging himself from the wreckage of each hour. His best (and only) friend is obsessed with a TV series he despises, three of the worst school bullies want his head on a platter, and home life is about as cheery as a rotting corpse.Korekiyo Shinguji is well liked, appears prim and proper, strangely sarcastic and snippish, and is followed by a swathe of admirers that he doesn't seem to appreciate in any fashion. His life beyond his amazing academics and charming looks is a complete mystery, and he doesn't seem keen at any point to share it. Hated only by a few and only saved from bullying due to his status in the high school hierarchy Korekiyo's surface life is perfect. What rots beneath is a disgusting secret that he is forced to keep out of fear and abuse.The pair never speak, never even take notice to each other despite being in the same year, but odd things can happen when auditions for a live death trap rolls lazily into your prefecture.





	1. Who cares about actual titles now really

Fall air felt cold and bitter on the tongue and Ouma couldn’t help but wish he had some sort of face mask. Biting fall winds didn’t mix well with his pre-existing fragility and feeling near constant whips and stings just attempting to walk into a looming building did little to improve his near-constant sour mood. In no way did Kokichi claim to be any sort of optimist, really-- as far as he felt concerned the glass appeared not only half empty but full of some drunk vagrant’s piss. He also didn’t exactly fit into any pessimistic niche--  even a scrawny sad-boy has his desires and dreams. A sharp pain against his shoulder reminded him that he was supposed to be moving forward and that standing directly before the steps of an eight hour prison didn’t bode well for avoiding physical harm. The spikes of Momota’s (frankly ridiculous) haircut caught Ouma’s gaze just before the brute’s toxic glare did. Kokichi swallowed a thickish lump in his throat and weighed his options-- pretend to be even weaker and submit in hopes of mercy? Run? Make fun of Kaito? While pondering far more options than necessarily Momota made the impatient choice just to grind his foot against Ouma’s and stalk away.

A part of Ouma felt relieved that he got out with a warning. The rest of him only felt concerned with Ow His Foot Fucking Hurt. Kokichi wiped his nose on the sleeve of his already dirty gakuran (thank GOD it was already black) and finally trudged in. No point in dawdling any longer for someone far less forgiving to knock the wind out of him.

Kokichi Ouma wasn’t particularly known throughout the school as a nuisance, he really existed within the social echelon as an easy target for types like Kaede Akamatsu and Kaito Momota to take out their unbridled teen rage out on, but not quite far enough down to have many pity friends. In fact his only friend, Shuichi Saihara, hung (unsurprisingly) fairly low in this unspoken echelon as well. The aforementioned partner in crime bounced towards Ouma’s slouching form at break period, golden eyes lit up with his characteristic uncanny excitement. Calling Saihara odd proved beyond an understatement. The scrawny, pale teen had every possible option to climb the high school hierarchy-- Akamatsu just barely more than tolerated him (“took him under her wing” Shuichi would purr when Ouma expressed concern). No one bullied him, he was fairly attractive and without any of the bruises and abrasions that had brought about rumours of Ouma running a fight club. Really all that kept Saihara from being more popular was how openly excitable he could be about his…..--

“Did you see the new season of Danganronpa is going to be taking auditions soon?!”

...Interests. Kokichi’s gaze near immediately glazed over with boredom and discomfort that Saihara _COMPLETELY_ ignored. A number of stock phrases popped up on coathangers in Ouma’s mind. He picked the first one:

“I heard.. I wonder who’s gonna be the lucky picks this year.” Kokichi assesses any change in Saihara’s expression. He still looked pleased, So Ouma felt relieved in making it to the second level of the conversation.

“Oh I know exactly who!” Saihara pressed his thin fingers together, lacing them tight enough to make his pale knuckles even whiter. Now Ouma felt a bit more interested.

“Huh? Who?”

“Akamatsu and I are gonna audition together!” That certainly let the ball drop. Kokichi felt about four or five new lumps stuck in his throat and these weren’t going to be swallowed down quite as neatly. He twirled his greasy purple split ends arounds bandaged fingers and laughed awkwardly.

“You.. aren’t serious.. Right?” He knew he had to pick his words carefully. Navigating the topic of Danganronpa with Saihara felt like a minefield in pitch black. Shuichi’s lips twitched down just a smidge.

“Of course I’m serious.. Why wouldn’t I be? In fact that’s why I came up to you.” His lips twitched right back up, grin wide and eyes glassy and shiny like an excited child. He clasped Ouma’s smaller hands in his own (causing the latter to half-squeak):  
“I want you to audition with me! Imagine all we could do together! I’ll be Ultimate Detective and maybe you could be……” he looked Ouma over with a critical eye, mentally picking away at the numerous bandages across his neck and face “...We can think of a talent for you later!” Ouma felt the lump in his throat harden like drying concrete. His gaze fell to the floor and he shuffled his shoes about.

“That…. Uh….” Don’t meet his gaze, Ouma. Speak your mind for once. Don’t look up--

“Yeah. That sounds great.” Kokichi cursed himself. Without his desire he drew his sight upward and fell right into the expectancy of Shuuichi’s autumn eyes. He loved and hated those eyes. Shuuichi beamed wider and shone bright enough to blind Ouma for a moment, and then with a quick goodbye he jogged off giggling.

_ God did Ouma hate those eyes.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fairly short first chapter but I'm honestly testing the waters. I've edited this about 20 times so that's probably where the shortness comes from. Cheers


	2. The title is based off that one lorde song yknow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> intro of korekiyo. not graphic but descriptions of miyadera + korekiyo knows hes being abused so. proceed at your own risk. Hate that nasty woman
> 
> also kaede calls him whorekiyo because she can. We love a big titty bi bully girl. She's basically just meaner Japanese Regina George.

Checklist. Korekiyo’s nails grazed across his flip phone keys. (Really he should update that thing. He should but he wouldn’t). His checklist glared against his squinting eyes in the naked dawn. Already he had swept the porch, cooked breakfast, and as soon as his Sister awoke (it would be three minutes) he would make the bed. Pressing the ‘ok’ key for each goal that he met. Beside him Miyadera stirred and he let himself flinch before forcing relaxation to take hold. He would hurt her if he flinched. She wrapped her arms around him as soon as she awoke and God did he try not to flinch again. Her lips were on his neck and he closed his eyes-- passing it off as calm but really squeezing back some boiling feeling.

“Good morning, Kiyo.” Her voice doesn’t sound real. He speaks in a scripted manner.

“Good morning, Onnee-sama.” She smiled. He had said the right thing and for that he escaped punishment. Slowly he helped her from the bed and into the kitchen where breakfast, still warm, awaited her only. She motioned for a kiss and he obliged.

He could vomit that one off later.

Fixing the bed (and himself) he exited into the kitchen, ate a single piece of cold toast, once more kissed her goodbye in a manner that made his stomach roll, and left for school. The walk was  short and he knew well that once he entered within the general proximity of the building a number of first years would swarm him like starving butterflies to a corpse. He always found it odd that butterflies aided in decomposition-- but beauty and rot seemed to just perfectly fit the position of his world. Just as expected a young underclassmen bashfully approached her prey, face down and hands clasped in front of her. She wished him a good morning, he replied politely but monotonously, and when she offered to take his bag he accepted the offer without question. Really was it so wrong if she offered first? He deserved the break and did not particularly wish to chip any one of his manicured black nails (appearance was incredibly important if he wanted to maintain his status). Her face glowed with pride, she must not have been terribly popular, and carried his shoulder bag with more importance than her own. Korekiyo used the freedom from weight to adjust his posture and await the train of jealous and selfish girls that would soon attempt to overwhelm and one up the first year.

They came, his hands were emptied from any burden, and he thanked them in the loosest and coldest terms possible. Somehow yet (and this is what truly set him over the edge of hidden rage) they loved it-- ate it up entirely. How they could swarm a rancid scrap with the desire of a king’s banquet and be satisfied Korekiyo would never know. The pitiful display infuriated him, everyone in that school infuriated him. The young man took his bags back after his curt gratitudes and entered into the building’s first hall.

Checklist two. Posture: fixed, hair: combed and over the shoulder, eyes: directly studying him. He knew not to show any care about the glances and glares and stares and sneaked looks. Giving attention would lead to his falling eventually, and as such he remained cold. Mentally the checklist ran miles and with a pen in his mind’s eye he marked every last one. Every last…

“Shinguuji.” Korekiyo looked up and immediately rolled his eyes. Kaede Akamatsu was certainly a _treat_ to run into first thing in the morning. She folded her arms over her chest and puffed herself taller, smirking up at him.  
“How’s my _favourite_ pretty boy doing?” She sneered, a rather boring jab for her but she was most likely tired (at least that was what Korekiyo concluded).

“I was doing quite a bit better before you arrived.” Quipped the ‘pretty boy’ in question-- tone poised and venomous to match her own nasty edge. Akamatsu narrowed her gaze to a glare and pressed a finger into his chest.

“Oh please. Stop acting like you’re hot OR tough shit.” She hissed low enough for only him to hear. She was close enough that he could pick out the flecks of red within her violet eyes and each strand of straw blonde hair. She smelled sickenly sweet and of expensive perfume.

“Whoever said I was acting as such?”  
“I did, dumbass.”

“Can you only speak when profanity is involved, Akamatsu?”

“Shut the fuck up before I drag you out and break each one of your pretty nails.” That was her final sneer, taking his hand roughly in her smaller soft ones and pushing back on the inky acrylic. He hissed under his breath and tore his own hand back and away-- her threat made crystal clear. Kaede’s face lit up with poisoned sweetness and she threw to him a quick peace sign.

“See you later, whorekiyo!” She purred, revelling in his disgusted wince as she skipped off to NOT go to class (If Korekiyo had to guess she was going to stand behind the gym and smoke overly expensive cigarettes until a teacher caught her. Then she would bail herself out with ridiculous amounts of money and repeat the cycle once more behind another grimy building. He desperately wondered how the rich daughter of a renowned businessman ended up in the simmering cesspool that was their high school). Korekiyo, on the other hand, made his way directly to his first period.

_ There was no way in any nonexistent heaven nor hell that he would miss the one thing worthwhile in his life. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second chapter is also short (by my standards). Hope to break 1000 words with the next one (maybe 2000 if I REALLY get in the writing groove)


	3. ouma kokichi is rat boy extraordinaire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ouma and Korekiyo meet. It goes about as well as you should probably expect

Ouma barely made it in time for the first chime of the bell, and the snickering of his fellow classmates told him that his day was neither going to start nor end well. With a thick swallow he slid himself unhappily into the tiny desk and pressing his knees uncomfortably against the cold wood. (There certainly were a lot of UNs in his life he was waiting for the day that the negative prefix would not be nearly as vital to his day to day). His eyes fell in one strong swing to his shoes and he planned to keep them there no matter what. There was no way in heaven or hell he would ever--

“Ouma, Kokichi.” He stood up, raising his hand and face to announce his presence with a cracking mousy voice.  
“Here.” And then he sat back down, silently cursing himself for so quickly ruining his win streak. Really he should just give up while he was behind, and before he started crying (be it real or fake). More snickering filled the room before the teacher made a half-assed motion to silence it. She didn’t care-- she wasn’t paid nearly enough to care about any damned one of them. Kokichi returned to his unpleasant sulking  and just counted the imperfections in the wood on the desk.

One… two… three…… he came across his own hand, freshly yellow from cigarette burns, and cringed. Four.. five.. Six… he was no longer counting the wood. He only moved his gaze back upwards when Saihara’s name was called forth, followed by a sigh and a flip of paper. The teacher had entirely skipped Akamatsu out of pure habit-- a habit all of her teachers had to make. Saihara returned to his seat and Ouma returned to counting. One.. two.. Three..

“Ouma.” four.. Five.. six..

“ _ Ouma _ .” seven.. Eight..

“ **Kokichi Ouma** ” He finally snapped his head up again (biting his tongue sorely in the process) to find the teacher nose to nose with him. He held his breath in fear of tasting hers, and met her gaze with a sort of dazed awe.

“Your work.” She clicked. Her terse tone told him that she had already asked him. Presumably multiple times. He swallowed and bowed his head in understanding apology as he began to shuffle anxiously in his bag for the necessary papers. Oh what a cruel trick of fate it would be if--

And his papers exploded over the floor. Speak of the devil and he shall appear and what not. Kokichi cringed to the ringing tune of laughter and just did his very best to hand her the papers she required.  _ Please please PLEASE _ let these be the papers she required. Her sigh of gross sympathy told him what he wanted to hear, and her vague attempt to hand him the other papers saved him…….. From nothing. The laughter continued under everyone’s swallowed breaths. Ouma couldn’t even bring himself to return to counting the wood.

“I know you all must find our classmate’s suffering  _ quite _ amusing but some of us are trying to work.” A voice rang out above the others. A guardian angel? No. Much worse. Much much worse. Now not only was Ouma mortified, his face burned crimson

To be fair the rest of the class faired only an inch better. Korekiyo Shinguuji just was not one of those people you could  _ ignore _ (unless you were Akamatsu, who for no consistent reason loathed Shinguuji). The laughter died with only a few giggles popping around in the air-- but these were not mocking like before. Giddy as a schoolgirl exists as a phrase for a reason, after all. Korekiyo just rolled his eyes and poured himself back into his textbook. Even the teacher seemed to fall into a dreamy lull as the dust settled back into silence. Kokichi would thank his saviour, if his saviour wasn’t one of the most popular people to exist in any social circle he was contemporarily aware of. Knowing Shinguuji (which he did to the very best of his ability and within reason of privacy) the boy would simply grunt in soft annoyance and give no indication that the deed was performed at all in Ouma’s favour (it wasn’t. Korekiyo really just wanted some genuine peace and quiet while he attempted to peruse his book). Class flew by without incident, Ouma was pushed from his seat as he attempted to stand (common, really), more snickers followed, and then silence as the pattern closed. Kokichi gathered his strewn about items with a nervous quickness and scurried out of the classroom. His goal was to make as much distance between him and the world before next period, and that goal shattered when he slammed directly into the spindly figure of none other than….

Oh goodness this was starting to play out like a coffee shop romance, but without the romance and with more embarrassment. Ouma’s jaw dropped as Korekiyo glared tiredly down at him. Before he could really begin to stumble upon countless apologies a hand jutted out towards his chest. Lacing his own fragile hand within Korekiyo’s, Ouma was lifted off the ground and back to his feet.

“It would do you well to watch where you walk.” Shinguuji hissed, his words completely flying over Ouma’s head while he stared like a dazed fish into those dulling golden eyes.

“ _ Ouma _ .” Kokichi shook his head and plummeted down to earth, face lighting up with that same crimson blush.

“R-Right! Wait… you know my name?”  _ What kind of dumbass question was that, Kokichi? _ Immediately he began to curse himself in his head. How would Korekiyo NOT know his name, he paid attention in class, he wasn’t an idiot (unlike certain lovestruck losers), and the list of reasons as to why that was the stupidest most ridiculous one line question ever continued for miles. Korekiyo took it with grace, however. Really now when didn’t he?

“Of course. It is not like the professor did not call your name an innumerable amount of times.” He drawled with a soft lilt, turning with a flourish of raven hair and walking away from the stunned and sickly boy. Ouma nervously began to toy with his hair while continuing his self-beating. He might as well head to the next class before he showed any further signs of weakness or emotion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally 1000 words! Its almost the length of a reasonable chapter now. Anyhoo sorry for the wait, I've been both sick and busy (a lovely combo) so in my nyquil induced stupor I struggled to finish this. Please be kind if my writing is subpar compared to usual


	4. Hologram but every time its cliche things get faster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for usage of the word f//ggot. I am a gay man and as such am comfortable reclaiming the slur

Korekiyo would never admit he felt even an ounce of pity for the boy. Not for a moment, not for two or three or even four. Perhaps four if only because the number meant death.

Dark musings aside he felt disgusted at even the idea of showing an ounce of pity towards anyone. Pity is what made the world as disgusting as it was, now really. His legs began to move before his head did-- causing a bit of a lag between his thoughts and his tongue. He hadn’t particularly meant to be so rude but really now snippy comments like that were second nature to him. Korekiyo did his best not to watch Ouma sulk pitifully away. No, do not even use the WORD to describe him. Pity disgusted him more than any other foul, swarming emotion. Pity meant a forced care.

People feel ‘pity’ when they stumble across his family’s darker side. 

God did Korekiyo hate pity.

The next class felt relatively uneventful, as did the next, and the next, and you can guess the pattern from there. When you spend much of your free time studying as an excuse to be busy, school becomes less of a chore and more of a dull din. All around him felt a bit like the scraping of brass against itself-- that loud and hollow sound that gets annoying after about only half of a second. He hated that sound too.

Korekiyo certainly hated a lot of things.

Continuing through the halls in that ambling pattern lasted until lunch, where he gathered a small fabric box and seated himself in as inaccessible of a spot as possible. To neglect to do so would result only in a swarm of his adoring fans. They made it incredibly hard to eat due to the nausea their baseless attraction caused in him. They only liked his looks-- they would surely hate everything else. The idea of being seen as an object again made him want to curl like a salted slug. Eventually Shinguuji crawled to the top of the student roof access-- sitting just behind the door and opening his lunch box to indulge in what little he packed for himself (really all just leftovers from whatever he made for his Sister). He ate slowly, methodically, and without removing his mask (a skill that left many people awed for some apparent reason. Really, how hard was it to invision his ability to chew with the mask on?)

A sudden thud outside the door caused him to drop his food, cringing as he quickly shuffled it off his lap with a gagging noise. He closed his box and stood up slowly to watch through the dusty glass window of the creaking metal door.

Momota was outside-- he had with him… none other than Ouma Kokichi. Really now this was starting to read like a bad romance novel except with no romance and a lot of pain to come. Korekiyo narrowed his gaze and laid his box down to watch through that small window as Kokichi endured a heavy beating. The whole scene looked rather frightful, and Korekiyo’s poisonous curiosity got the best of him as he cracked open the door just a sliver.

“That’s what you get for being a pansy faggot!” The slur was punctuated by a kick to Ouma’s stomach-- one that made Korekiyo cringe as he heard the air be sucked out of the smaller boy’s lungs like a pitiful vacuum. Ouma began to blubber miserably for mercy, but all calls went unanswered as Kaito continued his tirade of kicks and hurled insult.

“Maybe I’ll do the world a favour and throw you off the roof myself!” Momota’s voice sounded raw, his neck was bulging with anger and spittle collected at his goatee. Ouma was snotty, red-eyed, and black and blue. He was covered in blood, spit, and his own tears and more and more just kept coming. Korekiyo wanted to leave. Korekiyo SHOULD leave. This was the world they lived in-- a world of cruel realities and terrible people. Do not stand up. Do not enter into the fray. Do not--

“I think that is quite enough, Momota.” He couldn’t even register his own voice. It sounded foreign-- just as clipped and terse as usual but like he was hearing it through a telephone line. Momota looked up like a raging bull.

“What was that?”  
“I said that was enough.” Korekiyo licked his lips, “lest you forget there is a significant punishment for murder.” Two pairs of eyes were staring at the boy with disbelief-- He was _really_ stretching the use of his status. Kaito marched forward, a wild boar with shining tusks ready to gorge the fool that angered it (really Korekiyo could think of hundreds more wild animals to compare Kaito to, a bull and a boar barely scratched the surface of his barbarism). Korekiyo was only brought out of his thoughts by the stench of Momota’s breath in his face.

It smelled like alcohol. Cheap alcohol.

“Say that again and I’ll break you in half, okama.” Korekiyo winced. This wasn’t his first time being called such a horrid word, but somehow it felt worse when he could smell the sour breath of a drunk delinquent.

“What? That killing him will get you charged with murder?” Why did you bite back, Korekiyo. Why did you do that you stupid boar-headed--

_ SMACK _ . The punch was hard enough for Korekiyo to not only feel but hear his own nose breaking. He crouched to the ground in pain and shuddered, gasped, and groaned. Momota just spat an inch or so away as he stomped down the stairs-- clearly finished with his playing. Blood flooded the inside of Shinguuji’s cotton mask. It flowed into his mouth and tasted coppery and bitter and slick but he couldn’t do anything about it besides forcefully press his nose back into place (there were tears springing at the corners of his golden eyes) and replacing his mask with one of his temporary ones so that the soaking blood would not be seen. Ouma continued to stare up in awe at his saviour, coughing and pulling himself to his heavily scraped knees. Korekiyo didn’t expect much more than a ‘thank you’-- hopefully the student wouldn’t beg or pull some ridiculous move like so many of his adoring little fans--

“That was stupid.” Ouma’s harsh words snapped Korekiyo back to the reality of the situation, in which he was still crouched on the ground over his blood-marinated mask and Ouma was dragging his useless body towards him like some sort of pathetic zombie.

“Certainly not the thank you I expected for your life.” Kiyo returned in a catty tone. He didn’t care when Ouma flinched, nor did he let himself care when tears sprang into the smaller’s eyes.

“That was so stupid.” That was the last Korekiyo heard before Ouma dragged himself up and took off like a wounded deer. For once in his life, Korekiyo decided to skip the next class.

He needed some time to think up on that roof and his studies could wait until his nose was not busted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okama is something Kaito actually calls Korekiyo in the localized version of the game. It's a term dating back to the edo period that essentially packs the same proverbial punch as faggot but, presumably to a Japanese cast, far worse than the American term. Theres no real good translation for it so thats why I threw it in as is. Essentially Kaito is a dick and a half but hell grow as a person... maybe


	5. Long time no see

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is probably one of my more poorly written chapters. I promise I'll try to update more frequently I've just been in a total rut.

Ouma was still in a state of shock. Someone had actually _intervened_ for him. _How stupid could Korekiyo be?!_ Now Ouma was responsible for giving the prettiest boy in school a broken nose. Sure it wasn’t directly but it might as well be. Ouma could feel the panic bubbling in his throat as he traipsed back to class, limping slightly from the abuse he had endured at the hands of Kaito. Momota’s words rang in his head like sharp and tiring bells, and he winced more at the memory of those words than at the physical brutality he experienced. Perhaps in a way he was used to this all…. Used to everything but Shinguuji’s intervention.

He still couldn’t get over how idiotic that intervention was. He was sure that he never would.

Now Ouma sat curled in the library waiting in silence for classes to begin. It was a free study period, and as such he of course had elected totally without the push of his instructor in taking up the student tutoring programme. No, he was not a tutor. By  _ God _ was he not a tutor. Instead he sat there in waiting for some snobby upperclassman with a superiority complex bigger than the entire building and twice as heavy. He pressed his knees into his chest and sighed sharply, gaze to the ground as the clicking of heels filled the room. Then a familiar voice.

Oh God. You have  _ got _ to be kidding.

There he was. In all his glory with an ice pack to his face was Korekiyo Shinguuji, now currently glaring daggers at Kokichi. Ouma wanted nothing more than to rip out his own stomach and run for the hills, but quite frankly he didn’t have the stamina or will to do either.

“You are my student.” He didn’t phrase it as a question. Korekiyo Shinguuji didn’t  _ ask  _ questions. Kokichi felt a lump in his throat and he nodded nervously while Korekiyo sat down. He never thought he wouldn’t want to be around a cute boy who didn’t treat him like garbage but by  _ God _ was there a first for everything. Korekiyo’s nimble fingers worked themselves into his bag as he produced a massive folder of schoolwork. Kokichi mimicked him with his far less impressive folders, and the two settled into the quiet background of the library to begin. Tutoring occurred mostly in silence with only short lapses and breaks to allow for Korekiyo to point out just what Ouma did wrong (and what he very rarely did right). The entire hour was excruciatingly slow, and neither boy knew worth an ass and a half what the other was thinking.

_ What was the other thinking _ ?

Well for starters, Kokichi felt unable to pull his lavender eyes away from the blossoming bruise on Kiyo’s face, guilt and memories swelling in his chest like some glorified and toxic balloon. Korekiyo, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to simply get through the lesson. He wanted this pathetic silence and looks of sympathetic pity to end. Kokichi certainly didn’t mean to show pity, an emotion and quality he loathed above all else, but pity can be hard to avoid when you’re inches away from the prettiest boy in school and he has a broken nose because  _ your _ school bully faced an interruption. Was there not some sort of law or code dictating the illegality of ruining a pretty face? Did Kaito or Kokichi face judgement at the pearly gates of school-determined social lives? Kokichi would surely know in a few days if he faced punishment at the hand of those far too concerned with the perfection of Korekiyo’s features.

“I am not angry at you.” Kokichi was pulled from his nervous inner monologue by Korekiyo’s sharp voice-- punctuated by the snapping shut of a book and followed by a crisp sigh.

“Wh-What?” He swallowed the rest of his sentence, already feeling ridiculous from the stutter.

“You think I am angry with you for what happened. I am not.” Korekiyo’s eyes were closed, expression calm and face built for poker. Kokichi’s mouth felt dry for a moment and he opened and closed his lips before settling on ignoring the statement. Ouma never more had wanted to do school work than he did now. Well that was a lie-- he still didn’t want to do schoolwork but it certainly appeared more appetizing than the return to silence. Their session finished as quietly as it began and Korekiyo began to pack up.

“Thank you…” Kokichi murmured, eyes to the floor and tracing over his muddy and torn black dress shoes. Korekiyo made a noise of recognition and flipped his raven hair smoothly over his shoulder-- addressing a chip to his perfectly manicured black nails and breathing out sharply through his nose. For a man who hated being known for his appearance he certainly did a lot to maintain it.

“I will see you here tomorrow for a session in the afternoon.” He was all too clinical. The bell rang for their final two periods to begin.

“Do not be late.” Korekiyo finished, glaring daggers once more at Kokichi who shrunk beneath the gaze and felt his face heat up with shame that he could not explain. The taller man left the room and Kokichi was left alone, silent in his own devices. Ouma packed in silence, cursing softly under his breath for reasons unknown, and entered back into the hallway to rejoin the loud, bright outside world.


End file.
